He crossed his arms over his chest. What he really wanted to do was hit something, hit something hard enough to make his knuckles bleed. Everything Olympia said was true. He was an earl, but Brant knew his mother had been undermining his power for years, from the very minute his father had died in fact. The woman had always done her best to undermine his father’s power as well. Letitia Mallam had always resented the fact that men she did not consider worthy, starting with her own father, held all the power in the world. It had taken her years but she had finally gathered some formidable power of her own and it would not be easy to take any of it away from her.
Brant had no difficulty in accepting powerful women. He knew he was looking at one right now and he found her not only acceptable but alluring. Olympia was strong because of her intelligence, confidence, and that big heart he knew she fought very hard to hide. His mother was powerful because of guile, because she knew secrets and used them to get what she wanted, and because she had a cold-blooded ruthlessness that would give anyone the chills. The fact that he had known that about his mother yet had never seen the danger she presented to Faith left him suffering the constant gnawing of a guilt he could not banish no matter how much he drowned himself in drink and the pleasures of the flesh.
Shaking aside the unsettling emotions any thoughts of his mother always stirred within him, Brant fixed his attention back on Olympia. She was a stunningly beautiful woman; all the more so because she showed no real awareness of the fact. Her hair was a glorious black, a deep, rich color and shining with health. It was a dark frame for the fairness of her skin, which was a soft cream with hints of rose and invited a man to stroke it. Her face was faintly heart-shaped, the bones finely cut in a way any sculptor would envy. Eyes so blue he suspected you could see the color of them from a goodly distance were wide, heavily lashed, and set beneath eyebrows naturally thin and arched. There was the faintest hint of a point to her chin, her neck was long and slender, her body strong yet intensely feminine with curves that made a man think of long nights spent savoring each rise and hollow. Even her hands were beautiful with the graceful way she moved them and long, slender fingers.
He was not at all surprised by the pinch of a growing desire for her. It was a bad time for such a thing, however. It was not simply that it was a complication he did not need, but Lady Olympia was far too aware of the sort of life he had been living of late.
“My lady,” he began, groping in his mind for the correct words.
“Oh, please, let us end this weighty formality, at least when we are not performing before society. I am Olympia. Call me Olympia.”
“I am not sure that is wise. I have not known you for very long.”
“Longer than most. Only in private, m’lord. I know better than most how petty-minded society can be and neither of us needs the trouble gossip can bring.”
“Fair enough.” He nodded and held out his hand for her to shake. “Then you must please call me Brant.”
Olympia shook his hand and immediately wished she had not. Warmth spread up her arm from the point where their hands met, something that had never happened to her before. She could believe it more readily if she had removed her gloves. Touching anyone bare skin to bare skin was so rare even in the most innocent of circumstances that some response to such a touch was to be expected. But this was no more than a short impersonal shaking of hands while she wore gloves.
Perhaps, she mused, it would be wise to step back from the difficulty young Agatha was mired in. Olympia barely allowed that thought to pass through her mind before she shook it away. She was the one who had told Agatha that she would get help; the promises made to the girl had come from her heart and her lips. There would be no turning back on this now, even if it would be wise to keep her distance from the Earl of Fieldgate.
She cautiously withdrew her hand from his, needing to escape that warmth yet not wishing to yank her hand free of his light grasp as if she feared he would give her the plague. It all made Olympia experience an awkwardness she detested. She was pleased when young Thomas strode into the room and interrupted the tense silence that had developed between her and Brant.
“I think you may have a problem, m’lord,” said Thomas, studying Olympia and Brant with narrowed eyes.
“What problem do I have now?” asked Brant, taking a subtle step away from Olympia only to see by the way Thomas’s gaze followed his move that it had not been done subtly enough.
“No one left to tend your needs save for me, Merry, and near everyone in the stables.”
“All my servants have left?”
Thomas nodded. “Ran like rats deserting a sinking ship, if you will pardon me saying so. Merry is making a meal for you and her ladyship with her ladyship’s maid’s help. It will be a cold one. Merry was only just learning her way about the kitchens and the other lady said there was not enough time for much else. I think Missus Hodges will be back in a few days and I swear she is your servant and none other’s. She never much liked the countess. Half the stable be the old earl’s by-blows and the rest just never liked the countess.”
Brant dragged his hands through his hair as he struggled to understand what was happening. “So I have lost all of my household servants?”
“Save me and Merry.”